December
by Chapin CSI
Summary: GSR. Catherine, Ecklie, Warrick and even Hodges have tried to help Gil deal with Sara's absence. Greg was pissed, but at least he understood in the end. Now, Gil is home alone, talking to Sara.
1. Catherine

This is a series of short stories about Grissom and how he copes with the fact that Sara's gone. Chapters won't be in a chronological order for now, as I don't really know where the story's going.

Spoiler: A line from Time of your Death. 'Men in love do stupid things'.

* * *

December 12

"This is nice," Catherine said, "Working together, I mean. It's been a while."

Grissom looked up from the pictures laid on his desk but didn't say anything.

Catherine was right, though; it had been a while since they'd worked together. He had purposefully avoided working with her, and the only reason he'd become involved in this murder investigation was because their DB was found in an area infested with insects.

But the truth was, she wasn't the only one he'd been avoiding lately. He'd decided he'd rather work solo than risk having his coworkers ask questions about Sara. He didn't want to talk about her. He didn't want to talk, period.

Now that Catherine had turned a concerned gaze in his direction, Gil knew what was coming.

"So, Gil," she said gently, "How are you holding up?"

"I've got a job and a house, and Sara's got neither," he replied curtly, "What do you think?"

Catherine took the rebuff calmly.

"Wow. That bad, huh?"

Grissom immediately regretted snapping at her.

"I'm sorry," he said reluctantly. "But it's not me you should be concerned about."

Catherine nodded.

"I suppose you're right," she conceded, "I should be telling Sara how sorry I am for not seeing her pain. But she's not here," she added reasonably. "You are. Look; me and the guys are worried about you. They know better than to ask, but -"

"- I know," Gil said abruptly. He held her gaze for a moment, then looked down.

Catherine hesitated. She didn't know what to say to ease his pain. There was _nothing _anyone could say.

"I'm sorry, Gil," she said quietly. "I can't imagine what you're going through." When he didn't respond, she said the only thing anyone could say under the circumstances, "She's going to come back. You know she will."

Grissom didn't acknowledge these words. Instead, he said something that had been haunting him ever since Sara left.

"I never told her I loved her." He said softly. He looked up, and for a moment, the pain he was feeling was evident in his eyes. "Never."

Catherine looked at him.

"Do you think it would have made any difference?"

Grissom shrugged slightly but didn't answer.

"I don't think it would have," she said thoughtfully. "There is something about Sara... Something that doesn't allow her to be happy. It's as if… I don't know. As if she doesn't feel she deserves to be loved. That's hard to live with, Gil. You got to give her some time."

Catherine looked curiously at him, "Is this why you waited so long to be in a relationship? Were you afraid that this was going to happen?"

Grissom shook his head. There were lots of reasons. He had his own baggage to deal with, after all. He didn't trust love; he didn't believe it could last... But the possibility of happiness was tempting. He knew he could be happy with Sara -he just didn't know for how long. The uncertainty kept bothering him, till one day he thought, '_Why not try and be happy for a few months at least?'_ And, as simple as that, he'd started a relationship with Sara.

He didn't kid himself; he didn't really think it would last. But after a few months of bliss, his skepticism started to crumble. He started to believe. Maybe they could be happy for a longer time, he thought. 'Maybe a year,' he thought.

After that first year, Grissom didn't doubt it anymore; he truly believed that what they had would last forever. He never saw Sara's unhappiness. No, that was not true; he did see it. He saw her pain but didn't do anything about it. He just thought that love would somehow make up for it. Blinded by love and his own happiness, he'd overlooked the evidence.

But Grissom didn't tell Catherine any of this. He merely shook his head.

"It's like you said once," he said, "'Men in love do stupid things'."

Catherine smiled a little painfully. She didn't like to hear him talk like this.

"You _loved_ her, Gil," she said. "Do you regret that?"

Grissom looked down for a second, then at her.

"Not one bit," he said softly. And he smiled.

* * *

The End --- there'll be more stories but there won't be any continuity between them -except where indicated. 


	2. Ecklie

This is a collection of stories about Gil, and how he copes with Sara's departure. There'll be no chronological order, and no continuity, except where indicated.

This time, it's Ecklie who intervenes.

* * *

December 16

Conrad Ecklie rose from the visitor's seat in Gil Grissom's office.

"That's it, then," he said, handing a thin volume to Grissom. "The sheriff expects the personnel from all shifts to comply with the new regulations as soon as possible." He paused for a moment, in case Grissom had some mordant comment to make, but Grissom merely took the book and stared at it.

Ecklie turned to go, but hesitated when he reached the door. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Grissom open the book and frown at it.

Ecklie took a deep breath and then he walked back into the office

"Gil -"

Grissom seemed surprised to see that Ecklie was still there. Then his expression changed; he may have noticed something in Ecklie's face or in the tone of his voice, because he suddenly seemed uncomfortable, as if he knew what Ecklie was about to say.

"Listen, Gil," Ecklie said, "I know you don't want to hear this, but -"

"You're right," Gil said calmly, "I don't."

"-but I have some experience in this type of situation," Ecklie finished.

Grissom sat back and waited. He had an idea of what Ecklie was going to say. It was about Sara, and coming from Ecklie, it was not going to be good. 'I told you so' perhaps.

And that would only be the beginning.

Grissom smiled to himself. He wondered what kind of penalty he would get for punching Conrad on the face. It was probably in the new regulation book resting in front of him; pity he hadn't had time to read it yet...

Ecklie looked solemn as he spoke.

"There's a lot I could say," he started, "But there's only one thing that really matters here." He paused for a moment, "Don't keep it to yourself."

Grissom frowned. This was definitely not what he was expecting.

Ecklie didn't pause for long.

"I know you," he said. "You don't like to discuss personal matters. But believe me when I say this: you better find someone to talk to. 'Cause if you don't…" he paused, as if he were searching for the right thing to say, "If you don't, then every feeling you've got for her will slowly turn into something you will hardly recognize."

Grissom's frown deepened. He still had no idea what Ecklie meant.

Ecklie didn't see the look on Gil's eyes. He wouldn't have cared, anyway. He had a faraway look in his eyes as he added, "You don't know how terrible it is to wake up one day and realize that all you feel is resentment and bitterness."

Grissom eyed him skeptically. Ecklie didn't know what he was talking about. Gil would never resent Sara; he'd never think of her with bitterness. Sadness, yes, but not bitterness -

But before he could finish this thought, a new one intruded in his mind. It was the memory of a recent conversation.

Just a few days before, Catherine had been talking to him and gently chiding him for 'looking like someone died'. jAt one point she had told him how Sara would not want him to grieve while she was gone, to which Grissom had replied, _'What makes you think you know what Sara wants? I thought I knew. I thought I knew her, but I was wrong.'_

Grissom froze as he recognized the feelings behind those words.

Resentment and bitterness.

It broke his heart to think that he could ever feel like this towards Sara.

He looked at Ecklie.

In other circumstances, these would have been the hardest words to say. But in this case, there was genuine gratitude behind them.

"Thank you, Conrad," Gil said.

* * *

The End --- there'll be more stories but there won't be any continuity between them -except where indicated. 


	3. Hodges

This is a collection of stories about Gil, and how he copes with Sara's departure. There'll be no chronological order, and no continuity, except where indicated.

December 10

David Hodges has a plan to help Grissom...

* * *

Grissom was in his office, reading a report, when someone knocked on his open door. It was David Hodges, looking inordinately pleased with himself.

"Boss?" the Trace Expert said, "Do you have a minute?

Grissom frowned. He didn't remember giving Hodges any special assignment recently -certainly nothing that warranted the look on his face; a look that said, 'I know something that you don't,' and that he wore whenever he had some lab result for the boss.

"Yes?" Grissom said cautiously.

Hodges stepped into the office.

"First of all, let me say that I'm aware how busy you've been lately, and how unlikely it is that you have any time to spare," he said ceremoniously, "But you see, a cousin of mine has come for a visit, and she's dying to see what her favorite cousin does for a living. So, I was thinking how a tour of the premises would be the -"

"David," Grissom interjected impatiently, "You don't need my permission for that; all you have to do is ask Judy for a visitor's tag."

"Oh, I know that. I was only wondering whether you could give us a minute of your time. I've told my cousin all about your work with insects and she's expressed an interest."

"Well," Grissom hesitated, glancing at the pile of documents waiting for his review, "I really don't -"

"It would mean a lot to her, Grissom," Hodges said quickly, "She's something of a collector herself."

Grissom hesitated for a second more, then relented. "All right," he said tiredly. "Just tell me when, and I'll be here."

"Great," Hodges beamed. "She's gonna be thrilled." He tilted his head in the hallway's direction, "I'll go get her," he said, and before Grissom had a chance to protest, he left.

Left alone in his office, Grissom sighed. He didn't have the time to tend to visitors; he was too busy. And tired. The idea of having to deal with two Hodges in one night seemed too difficult to grasp.

A moment later, Hodges returned with a blond woman of about forty years old, tall and attractive, who didn't look or act like Hodges -at all. She was probably a very distant cousin of David Hodges.

Grissom rose from his seat as Hodges made the introductions.

"How do you do," Grissom said cordially.

She shook his hand and smiled warmly. "Dr. Grissom, it's a pleasure."

Hodges stood between them, glancing at one and then at the other, a huge, smug, self-congratulatory smile plastered on his face.

"Laura is a teacher, back in Chicago," he said and was immediately rewarded by Grissom's reaction.

"Chicago?" he asked, "I lived there for quite a while."

"It's a great city," Laura said.

While they talked, Hodges took a step back, and then another, and didn't speak until he had reached the doorway.

"Well, then," he said, "If you will excuse me, I think I'll go back to my lab and leave you two to talk about Chicago."

Laura turned a confused gaze at him, and so did Grissom, but Hodges didn't seem to notice.

"Oh, and Grissom?" he said, "Thanks for giving Laura a tour of the premises. Who better than you?"

Grissom and Laura both gaped at the retreating Hodges and then at each other, their eyes as wide as those of a deer caught under a trailer's lights.

Laura recovered first.

"I can't believe he did this," she said. "He said _he_ would give me the tour." She looked apologetically at Grissom. "You know why he did this, don't you?"

"I think I've got an idea," Grissom said wearily. Ever since Sara left, he'd noticed that some members of the night shift were being specially cautious around him, treating him with excessive courtesy and gentleness. But he never thought any of them would do something like this.

Laura was truly apologetic.

"I'm so sorry, Dr. Grissom. I should have known -"

"It's all right," Grissom said, recovering at last. He'd just remembered that being boss included treating all visitors with courtesy. " I can give you the tour. It's no trouble."

But she had seen the reports on his desk.

"No, no, please. I can see you're busy. David was simply -" she paused. She took a deep breath then forced a smile. "You see, I got recently divorced, and since then some of my friends and family members seem intent on making me 'get back on the game' -their words, not mine."

"I'm sorry," Grissom said quietly. "About your divorce, I mean."

"It's all right," she smiled faintly. "I just wish they wouldn't force this on me -and others," she added pointedly. "I should be allowed to mourn for as long as I need -" she caught herself before she said more. She sighed, "Sorry -"

"I agree with you," he replied, "Not everybody can forget as quickly. Sometimes we can't help but find comfort in our memories."

She seemed surprised that he would understand. Surprised and pleased.

"It makes me think of a song in Spanish I heard a long time ago," she said, "I don't remember the music, but the words went like this, _'Hoy quiero saborear mi dolor; no pido compasión ni piedad.._.'"

She was probably going to translate the words for him, but Grissom spoke sooner.

"_I don't ask for compassion or pity_," he said, _"Let me savor my pain -"_

She looked at him in surprise.

"You know the song?"

"Only vaguely," he said noncommittally.

She hesitated for a moment, as if there was something she wanted to say but didn't quite dare.

In the end, she simply put out her hand.

"I enjoyed meeting you, Dr. Grissom."

"Same here," he said kindly, then he returned to his seat and immediately turned his attention to the reports on the desk.

When Laura walked out of Grissom's office, she had to force herself not to look back. She was aware of something close to regret taking a hold of her heart.

All she could think of was how she wished she'd met a man like this years ago...

But her gloom lasted only till she saw Hodges in his lab, the smug smile still in place.

Her eyes narrowed.

"Oh, David," she muttered, "You're gonna pay for this."

* * *

The end.

The song Laura mentions is 'El Triste' (The sad one) and it was sung by a guy named José José. It's a very old song. Grissom's translation isn't very close.


	4. Warrick

December 3 

Warrick thought that a couple of drinks would help Grissom unwind. What he didn't foresee was the destructive power of a love song.

Spoiler: the episode where Brass gets shot, and Warrick thinks his wife is cheating on him but she's actually planning his birthday…(?)

You kill me

Goodbye and Good Luck, of course.

* * *

"Can I bring you anything, sweetie?" 

The blond, heavily made-up waitress leant on the table, a warm smile on her face.

Grissom shook his head.

"No, thank you," he said courteously.

The waitress winked at him and turned her attentions to the men sitting at the next table, who reacted more favorably to vision in polyester and sequins offering them drinks.

Grissom smiled faintly. It seemed they took '70's Night' seriously in this club. From the waitresses' pantsuits to the decorations and the music, everything was true to the era.

Grissom was glad; he had fond memories from the seventies.

'Just don't let them play Disco,' he thought dryly. Although, considering the kind of music they'd been playing so far, a mindless Disco song wouldn't have been such a bad idea. It seemed that someone had conceived '70s Night' as 'heartbreak night', and each song they played seemed to be about loss and rejection.

For Grissom, it was as if each song had something to do with him. The next one was no exception.

Everybody's high on consolation

Everybody's trying to tell me what is right for me

I need a drink and a quick decision

Now it's up to me, woo what will be?

She's gone, oh I, oh I, oh I,

I'd pay the devil to replace her,.

She's gone, what went wrong?

Grissom sighed. Since Sara left, his colleagues had, indeed, been trying to help. Some of them had shown restraint, some had not; mostly, they'd been treating him with a special kindness that unsettled him. He, who had kept his private life to himself for years, had become now the object of people's scrutiny.

He didn't want to be treated any differently. On the contrary; he needed something steady to hold on to; something that would not change, no matter what. His job had always offered him a refuge; he needed it to stay that way.

Of course, coming to a night club wasn't the wisest move for someone who wanted things to remain the same, but he'd only come because Warrick had issued the invitation, ("It's the 'Drum and Bell Pub,'" Warrick had said, "You know the place; it's quiet and classy -just the kind you might tolerate. And they're holding their annual '70s Night' party, with music from the era. Think Pink Floyd and Guess Who," he'd added enticingly, "You're bound to enjoy yourself.'"

Grissom wasn't as easily dissuaded, however, and he put up excuse after excuse not to come. It was only after Warrick confessed that he wasn't handling his divorce well that Grissom finally accepted.

It was remorse that made Grissom relent. He knew he hadn't been available to his staff for the past year. Caught up in his own personal happiness, he didn't notice that others might not be doing so well.

Not that he believed for one minute that he was the right person to talk to; under the circumstances, lending an ear was all he could do. But maybe that was exactly what Warrick needed; someone to listen.

Grissom looked up just in time to see Warrick come back to their table, holding drinks in his hands and deftly avoiding the couples crossing his path. He managed to bring their drinks without spilling a drop and seemed very proud of the fact.

"Here," he said, setting a glass in front of Grissom.

"Why didn't you just order the drinks?" Grissom frowned.

"Are you kidding? Do you know how many people end up on a slab because a waitress or a guy at the bar slipped something in their drinks?"

Grissom raised an eyebrow.

"The job's making you paranoid."

"No, it's not," Warrick said indignantly, "It's common sense."

Grissom only gave him a look. Warrick sighed.

"Ah, maybe I'm being paranoid," he said reluctantly. "I used to enjoy eating out more, that's for sure." He took a look around, "So, how do you like this place?"

The place was like every other place Gil had visited before, except that he wasn't there to investigate a murder or to interview a witness.

"It's ok," Gil said.

"What about the music?"

"The music's ok, too," he said. "They're using the original versions."

Every single day  
I think of the times  
When you were still mine  
And I'm blue  
Got to get away  
Get you out of my mind  
I'm caught up in time  
And I'm blue

Grissom winced but didn't make any comment. Warrick didn't seem to notice the song; he preferred Jazz music, so he was probably forcing himself to ignore the music tonight.

Warrick picked up his glass and raised it in Gil's direction.

"Cheers," he said in a less-than-cheerful tone.

"Cheers," Grissom replied, his manner just as subdued.

They were obviously not in a celebratory mood. Soon, Warrick started talking about his marriage, and how it was only hitting him now, the fact that he'd failed at it.

"I'm kind of depressed," Warrick said. "You know how it is, going home and finding it empty, and trying to get some rest and not getting any…"

Grissom knew, all right.

Where are you now  
I need you now  
If you were around  
It would be alright

Living on my own  
I know I'm to blame  
I'm locked in my chains  
and you're free

"But what can you do?" Warrick said in a resigned tone.

Grissom didn't know what to say. Not that Warrick was exactly asking him.

"And now I'm taking pills to get some sleep but you know how that is -"

Actually, Grissom didn't know about that. He didn't like to take pills of any kind.

"Are you still going to the gym?" he asked suddenly.

"Yeah, I'm still going to the gym," Warrick said somewhat impatiently, "It doesn't help. I get tired but my mind's still working."

Love hurts, love scars,  
Love wounds, and marks,  
Any heart, not tough,  
Or strong, enough  
To take a lot of pain,

"Don't fight the pain, Warrick," Grissom said quietly. "You're only going to make it worse."

"So what am I supposed to do, curl up in bed and cry over all this shit?" The words were harsh, but the tone wasn't. He was genuinely asking a question. He was silent for a moment, and then he ventured a question. "Is that what you do?"

Grissom didn't reply.

"Can we talk about it?" Warrick asked tentatively. He paused for a moment, and when Grissom didn't say anything, he added, "Hodges says Sara left because you wouldn't leave your job for her."

Grissom put his glass down.

"He said something of the sort to me," he acknowledged quietly.

"But Sara isn't the kind of person who asks sacrifices from others," Warrick said, "She's the kind who makes sacrifices, herself." He kept his gaze on Grissom. "There must be other reasons."

Love is like a cloud  
Holds a lot of rain  
Love hurts, ooh ooh love hurts  
I know a thing, or two  
I learned, from you  
I really learned a lot,  
Really learned a lot  
Love is like a flame  
It burns you when its hot  
Love hurts, ooh ooh love hurts

Grissom looked into his glass and didn't reply.

Warrick sighed.

"I thought you two were gonna make it. It was a big let down when you didn't, I can tell you that. I mean, if people who obviously love each other can't stay together, then what hope do the rest of us have?"

Grissom didn't answer.

"It all comes down to the job, I guess," Warrick said. "My wife wasn't too happy with me having this job. Well, not the job itself but the schedule. To tell you the truth, I was this close to ask for a transfer to days -"

"So, why didn't you?" Gil asked noncommittally.

"Are you kidding?" he smiled, "I like working nights. I need to keep busy. My old demons, you know," he added smiling sheepishly, "They always come out at night."

"Did you tell your wife about those demons?"

"Nah, I didn't. I should have," he admitted after a moment, "At one point she was planning to celebrate my birthday in a casino, can you believe that?" He shook his head. "I just didn't think she'd understand if I told her. I guess I didn't want to seem weak. Now I wonder."

"Warrick, you still haven't signed on the papers," Grissom pointed out. "You still have a chance to talk to her."

"You think?" Warrick asked, and then he looked down, "I don't know," he said, "Things really deteriorated between us. You know how it is at first, when they look at you like you're the greatest guy on earth…?" he paused but not enough for Grissom to answer. "In the end, she was looking at me like I was a stranger."

"And were you?" Gil asked.

Warrick frowned.

"Was I what?"

"A stranger," Gil replied. "Were you a stranger or were you still the greatest guy on earth?" When Warrick didn't answer, Grissom put his drink down and continued, "Let me put it this way: Who did you see when you looked at your wife?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did you see the ER doctor you admired and fell in love with?" Gil asked, "Or did you see the woman who nagged you for not being there at the drop of a hat -your words, not mine."

Warrick frowned over this, and the silence that ensued, he finally became aware of the song they were playing.

I'll never find another girl like you, for happy endings it takes two  
We're fire and ice, the dream won't come true

Sara, Sara, storms are brewin' in your eyes  
Sara, Sara, no time is a good time for goodbyes

('cause Sara) Loved me, like no one ever loved me before  
(and Sara) Hurt me, no one could ever hurt me more  
(and Sara) Sara  
(and Sara) Nobody loved me anymore

"Oh, shit," Warrick muttered. He looked at Grissom and saw the pain flash in the older man's eyes. "Come on," Warrick said, rising abruptly. He took Grissom's arm.

"What's the matter?"

"We're leaving," Warrick said curtly, and he hauled Grissom out of his chair.

-----

They ended up in a smoky jazz lounge.

"This is better, huh?" Warrick asked, "No sad songs."

"Just enough smoke to give us lung cancer," Grissom replied with soft irony.

"Forget the smoke," Warrick replied, "The music is what we're here for. This music heals the soul, man."

Grissom smiled. He studied Warrick's profile for a moment.

"What are you going to do?"

Warrick shrugged.

"I'm gonna sign the papers," he said quietly. "There's not use holding on to them. I guess…" he paused. "I guess I expected too much from marriage. I don't know why; I mean, it's not like I had any good role models while I was growing up. My parents weren't even married -"

"Well, we all covet happiness," Grissom said reasonably. "We're sold on the notion that marriage means 'happily ever after'; it's only natural to try and find out."

Warrick glanced at Grissom.

"Did you -" He didn't finish the phrase, but Grissom knew what he was asking.

"Yeah," he said simply.

He'd asked Sara to marry him. He'd coveted the dream too.

Gil smiled self-consciously. "I never thought I'd ever get to say those words," he confessed.

"Are you sorry?"

"No."

They were silent for a moment.

Warrick smiled reluctantly.

"What you said earlier," he said, "About the way she was looking at me… You're right; I was as bad as her," he admitted. "A couple of strangers, sharing a house."

Warrick took a deep breath.

"I miss the ER doctor," he said softly after a moment.

Grissom glanced at him and then he looked down at the glass in front of him.

"Do you know who Sara saw whenever she looked at me?"

Warrick looked up.

"Who?"

"Gil Grissom, CSI Supervisor."

"So?" Warrick shrugged, "That's who you are."

"Exactly," Grissom said softly –and a little regretfully. "That's all I am."

* * *

THE END 

Songs: She's gone, (Tavares version); Love Hurts and Where are you now? ( Nazareth) Sara, (Jefferson Starship) –actually, this song is from the 80s, but it suits the story.

The End


	5. November

November 21

In You Kill Me, Gil is evasive when Brass asks about Sara. I didn't hear the entire conversation, but this chapter deals with it.

This story takes place a few hours before Gil and Brass talked.

* * *

Gil Girssom was at his office, writing a report, when his phone rang. He immediately picked it up.

"Yes?" he said eagerly, hoping this was the call he'd been waiting for.

"_Hey, Gil?_ _It's Brass_," the detective said, "_Remember the Carpenter case_?"

Grissom sighed. He was so disappointed, he didn't even reply.

"_Gil? You there_?"

"The Carpenter case?" Gil said, unable to place the case or even muster enough interest to think about it.

Brass didn't notice the lack of enthusiasm.

"_Yeah_," he said, "_The robbery we couldn't solve six months ago. Anyway, I was talking to Vartann today, and _-"

"Hold on," Grissom said when he noticed the signal for an incoming call, "I've got another call."

"_Wait_," Brass said, "_This will take me only a minute _-"

But Grissom put him on hold and immediately took the other call.

"Hello?" he said, only to have his hopes dashed again as another male voice replied. Dr. Robbins' voice.

"_Gil," _the Doc said, _"I finally know what killed the that guy they brought in early today!" _Robbins could barely suppress his excitement_, "This is a first for me; I'd never seen a case of _-"

"Don't tell me over the phone," Gil interrupted, "Write a report like you always do."

"_A report_?" Robbins replied in surprise, _"Didn't you hear what I just said? I'd never seen a case like this in thirty years of labor, and all you've got to say is, 'write a report'?"_

"I'm busy, Al," Gil said patiently, "I've got Brass waiting on the other line and frankly, I'd rather not talk about this over the phone," and before Robbins could make another protest, Grissom took Brass' call again. "So, you were saying -"

"_I was telling you about a break in the Carpenter case," _Brass said. _"I was talking to Vartann about it, and he said he had a hunch. He had a similar case a couple of months ago; he even had a suspect, but the day shift bungled the case. Anyway, Vartan suspected there was more than one guy involved in that case, only the fingerprints got lost in the -"_

"Is this gonna take all night, Jim?" Gil replied impatiently, "Because, if it is, I've got other things to do."

"_Well, excuse me,_" Brass replied tartly, _"I thought you'd want to know that we may have finally found a witness who -"_

"Good," Gil retorted, "Why don't you just tell me the witness' name, then. I don't need to hear the entire story from start to finish."

"_What's the matter with you_?" Brass asked, "_You usually need to know every detail of the -"_

"Well, not tonight -"

They ended up hanging up at the same time.

Grissom took a deep breath, then he leant back in his chair. This was not good, he thought. He was getting impatient with people, and all because he wanted to keep his phone line free, in case...

In case Sara called.

He sighed. He'd been waiting for that call for over a week now. Every time the phone rang, he was sure it was her. He didn't even bother to look at caller ID; he simply picked up the phone at the first ring, sure that it was Sara calling him to say she was coming back, or that she was downstairs, or that she was somewhere out there and needed a lift. Or simply calling him to say that she was ok and please not to worry.

The fact that it was never her didn't dash his hopes -not yet. He simply waited for the next call. And the next.

But he couldn't keep doing this.

It was ok when he did it at home; after all, what else was there for him to do now? But not here. It wasn't fair to his coworkers; it wasn't fair to the lab...

Besides, it was obvious that she was not going to call. Not yet...

He glanced at his desk calendar.

There was one think he could do. He'd been putting it off; it was too much like spying...

But he needed to know that she was ok. He picked the phone and made a call.

He'd looked at that number so many times, he already knew it by heart.

Officers at the San Francisco Penitentiary system didn't ask him too many questions; they were always willing to cooperate with a fellow officer of the law, they said.

Besides, all Grissom wanted to know was if Laura Sidle, Prisoner 68286 doing 20 years to life for homicide, had had any visitors recently.

Grissom's hunch paid off: Laura Sidle had received two visits in the past week. The same person had come every time: her daughter, Sara Sidle, who had shown an interest in their volunteer work program.

"Thank you," Grissom said softly.

He gently laid the phone back on the desk. Then, on second thought, he lifted it again.

"Hey, Al?" he said when Robbins answered, "It's Gil. Listen, I'm sorry I didn't let you finish your explanation -"

"H'm," Robbins grunted.

"I've got the time, now," Grissom said in a conciliatory tone, "Can you tell me over the phone or do you want me to go downstairs?"

"Well..." Robbins hesitated, but not for long, "Come on down. This, you've got to see."

* * *

The End

Next week: Grissom faces the wrath of Greg.


	6. Greg

December 5

Gil faces the wrath of Greg…

Ok, maybe I exaggerated with that 'wrath' part. Greg would never go that far. On the other hand, he's never been one to hold back when he thinks the boss is wrong (remember 'Harvest'?) Anyway, there was a scene in You Kill Me, where Greg mutters 'whatever' to Grissom's greeting; this is my take on it.

-----------------------------

Gil Grissom turned his Maglite on the walls of the dingy apartment. There were some intriguing stains on the peeling wallpaper, a single calendar, and that was about all there was to see. The calendar drew Gil's attention; it featured a heavily muscled man flaunting his body under a banner that read, 'Get Perspanthynol today! Get a new body for 2002!'

Grissom shook his head. By the way the apartment looked, it seemed that 2002 was the last year it was cleaned.

Curiously enough, 2002 was also the year Perspanthynol was taken off the market for causing psychotic breakdowns on its users.

Grissom took down the calendar to examine it more closely.

A few feet away, Greg Sanders was taking a look at a dead man lying on the floor.

"I found something," Greg said tentatively. He took a closer look at something, then added more excitedly, "Looks like he was bitten!"

Grissom didn't turn.

"Are we talking mosquito bite or dog bite?"

"I'm talking _human_ bite."

_That_ got Grissom's attention. He looked at Greg.

"Are you sure?" he frowned.

"It looks like a picture in a textbook," Greg replied, "Decomp is setting in, but still, the edges are pretty defined. Come take a look," he added, in a way that sounded like a challenge.

Grissom came over and hunched down on the opposite side of the body.

"See?" Greg asked, pointing at a spot behind the man's ear.

"It looks human," Gil nodded, "Not recent, though."

He took a couple of pictures of the bruise, and then checked the man's neck, in case there was further damage. Not wanting to disturb the man's clothing just yet, Grissom limited his examination to the exposed portions of the man's body. Since arms and hands usually provided much information about a person's personal habits, he checked on them next.

He worked quietly and efficiently, so focused on his task that he didn't realize that Greg wasn't helping anymore. The young man was only staring at him.

After a moment, Greg spoke.

"You know," he said slowly, "If she were my girlfriend, I'd go after her."

Gil frowned. Nothing in the apartment suggested the existence of a girlfriend; no clothes or pictures, for instance. He looked up and glanced around, in case he'd missed something. There seemed to be barely enough furniture and cutlery for one person, let alone two. True; there might be something in the bedroom, but he hadn't been there yet and neither had Greg.

"What girlfriend -" he started, but stopped when he looked at Greg. One look at his colleague's face, and he immediately knew whose girlfriend Greg was talking about.

Gil was surprised -not by the fact that Greg would mention Sara, (after all, everybody had brought her up in conversation at one point of another), but by the fact that he'd do it while on the job. No one else had dared to do so.

Suddenly, Greg's recent behavior started to make sense.

Greg's attitude to him had often bordered on the insolent lately; Grissom had not taken it personally because he knew very well what stress could do to a person -even a good-natured person like Greg- but now he realized stress had nothing to do with it. He could see it in Greg's resentful expression. The young man was pissed.

Grissom held Greg's penetrating gaze for a moment, and then turned his attention back to the body.

"The muscles in his arms are overdeveloped," he said in a business-like manner, "And the knuckles show sign of recent trauma," he held the man's hand up so Greg could see, "What do you think?"

Greg's gaze didn't waver.

"I think you didn't even love her," he said.

Grissom felt his face burn; it was the one and only visible sign of the anger that suddenly rushed inside of him. He immediately held it back -he'd trained himself too well to let his feelings take over- but for a brief second he'd almost lost control.

Gil felt the skin on his cheeks prickle from the intense flush.

He took a deep breath.

"You're crossing a line here, Greg," he said quietly. "You can't do that."

Greg seemed to realize that he had, indeed, crossed a line, but he faltered only momentarily. He looked at Grissom again.

"I would have never let her go, Grissom." he said.

Grissom didn't respond. Instead, he gently placed the dead man's arm back on the floor, and then he rose.

"Finish the scene," he said expressionlessly, "I'll tell Nick to come over."

Grissom picked his kit and turned to the door but before he reached it, Greg spoke again.

"Go ahead," he said, "Pretend nothing's happened. That's what you always do."

-------

Later that day, Grissom walked down a hallway, glancing at the doors, looking for a particular number.

Once he found it, however, he hesitated in front of that door.

He didn't have to do this. He didn't _want_ to do this, either. Whatever happened in his life was his own business -and Sara's- but people didn't see it that way. Ever since Sara left, people had talked; some had come to him with questions and advice, and Grissom had kept most of them at bay with truths and half-truths about Sara and their relationship. He'd only tolerated them because he knew that most of them were sincerely concerned.

There were others who'd talked simply out of malice. Just the other day, for instance, he'd heard two cops talking. He didn't even realize they were talking about Sara until the very end.

"…so, of course, she got bored. I mean, a hot chick like that with an old guy? No way. She was bound to look for fun elsewhere."

"She got tired of the books and the flies -" laughed the other.

"Sidle should have come looking our way," the first cop said lasciviously, "Right? We would have given her a taste of -" But he couldn't finish the phrase because the other cop finally realized that Grissom was there, and nudged his partner into silence.

Grissom had merely continued doing his job. Inwardly, he'd wondered why a virtual stranger would feel the need to discuss someone else's private life, but he didn't much care. No matter what people said -good or bad- his pain remained the same.

But he cared about Greg's opinion. Maybe it was because Greg was his youngest CSI, still learning about the job and about life, or maybe it was because Greg wasn't afraid to point out when Grissom made an unfair decision…

Or maybe –just maybe- it was because he knew that Greg genuinely cared about Sara, and was hurting nearly as much as Grissom.

Gil knocked on the door and waited. Eventually, heavy steps approached the door, and a shadow moved behind the peephole. The door opened immediately, and Greg stood there, looking at Gil in confusion. He was wearing old sweats and a t-shirt, and by the creases on his cheek, it was obvious that he'd been sleeping.

He looked around, as if he expected to see someone else there.

"Grissom?" he said, "What's up?"

Gil was genuinely sorry that he'd interrupted Greg's hard-earned repose, but he didn't apologize.

"You have something to say to me," he said, sounding more sternly that he intended too.

Greg hesitated, then wordlessly let him in.

----

Greg's living room was cramped and messy, and the couch was literally buried under discarded clothes and books. Greg pushed those aside so Grissom could sit. He stood in the middle of the tiny living room, seemingly not sure what to do next.

"Do you want coffee, or -"

Gil looked up in surprise. Greg didn't seem so fierce now. Either sleep had mellowed him out, or being in his own turf made him uncomfortable.

"I'm fine," Gil said quietly.

Greg glanced at Grissom's clothes.

"Funny," he muttered, "I hadn't seen you in street clothes in a long time."

Grissom looked down at this faux-leather jacket but didn't comment. He simply waited.

Greg cleared his throat.

"Listen," he said, "About the things that I said last night…" He hesitated. "I know it wasn't the right place to do it. I mean, there's always someone dropping in, right? Cops, or the guys from the morgue…"

Gil nodded.

"That's why I'm here," he said quietly.

Greg sat on the edge of his coffee table. He seemed tired. Sad.

"I guess I wanted to get a reaction from you," he said. "I wanted to get you angry enough to yell at me; you know, show a fucking emotion." He shook his head, "I should have known you'd never do that."

"Greg, I just -"

"It's just -" Greg continued, "You act as if nothing's changed, or as if you don't care that she's gone," he looked at him, "You just let her go, Grissom."

Gil opened his mouth to speak but Greg didn't let him.

"I know what you're going to say," he said, "That if you love someone you gotta let her go, blah, blah. But that's bullshit," he added, "You should have gone after her. But you didn't. It makes me wonder."

"About what?" Gil spoke softly.

"Whether you loved her," he said. He looked at Grissom, as if waiting for some reassurance from the older man. When he got none, he added, "You know what I think? I think you're relieved that she's gone. 'Cause now you can go back to your books and your insects. Life is simpler now."

Grissom shook his head almost imperceptibly. Life wasn't simpler; it was bleaker. But talking about it didn't help, and so he didn't.

Greg scoffed angrily.

"You know, people worry about you," he said, "They all say, 'poor Grissom,' this and 'poor Grissom,' that; but what about Sara? Why doesn't anybody worry about her? I mean, she's out there, somewhere, all alone… And that's the worst part, you know? Not knowing where she is or how she's doing. And _we_ could be looking for her –you know we could. But no one does anything because they're waiting for a sign from you. But you never say anything."

This time, he gave Gil an accusing look.

"I mean, do you know where she is, Grissom? Do you talk to her?"

Grissom didn't immediately answer. The words were painful to say.

"She's left some messages in my answering machine," he said calmly.

It was true. She'd been leaving brief messages, which had forced him to change his habits. Whereas he used to answer the phone at the first ring, now he let it pick up messages. He had the feeling that she would hang up if he answered.

"She does?" Greg asked, "What does she say?"

Grissom shook his head. He wasn't ready to share Sara's messages just yet.

"She says she's fine," he said simply. That was about all he could say, but he knew that for Greg, it wasn't enough. The young man was hurting; he needed reassurance. "She's going to talk to you one of these days," Gil added quietly.

Greg perked up.

"You think?"

Gil nodded. Greg was holding a job in a field Sara didn't believe in anymore; she was bound to worry about him.

"Once she's settled in her new life, she's gonna call. She's going to give you some advice on how to handle the job. She'll probably tell you not to take the job too seriously."

Greg looked down.

"She was always protective of me," he said quietly. He was silent for a moment, and then he looked up, "Are you gonna tell me why you didn't try to stop her?"

Gil shook his head.

"Greg, Sara didn't leave me a note saying 'goodbye' so I'd go after her. She doesn't play games –you know that. She meant what she said. She's trying to decide what to do with her life, and she has to do it on her own."

"If I were you, I'd look for her," Greg said stubbornly. "I wouldn't just wait for her to come back."

Grissom shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"Ever heard of a man who found a cocoon in the woods, Greg?" he asked softly. "He wanted to see what would emerge from it, so he carefully removed the twig the cocoon was hanging from and took it home with him -"

"Don't patronize me," Greg said morosely, "If you've got something to say, just say it; I don't need to hear your little parables -"

"For days, he waited," Grissom said, ignoring Greg's outburst, "And then one day, the butterfly started to hatch -"

Oblivious to Greg's glare, Grissom told him how the man started to notice that the butterfly was in trouble; that instead of breaking free from the cocoon, it was barely moving. He believed the butterfly was trapped in the cocoon.

"So, he set out to help," Gil said, "Carefully, so as not to damage the butterfly's wings, he cut the membranes that were holding it in."

Greg reluctantly looked at Grissom.

"And?"

"And… the butterfly fell on the table," Gil said softly. "It didn't fly away. Its wings were deformed –stunted; they would never be strong enough to hold the butterfly's body in the air.

"You see, there was nothing wrong with the cocoon," Gil added, "It was meant to hold the butterfly in a tight prison. The butterfly was supposed to free itself -it was a long process, meant to make its wings stronger. But the man intervened, and so the butterfly's wings never developed."

"And this is supposed to mean something to me?" Greg retorted. "Are youe comparing Sara to a butterfly?"

Grissom was silent for a moment.

"You know how Sara and I met?" he asked after a moment.

"She said she attended one of your seminars," he nodded, "And you two kept in touch afterwards."

"We did," Gil nodded. He still remembered those times as idyllic, filled with possibilities. "We used to talk about cases, or about books," he said, "She was passionate about her cases -that was part of the reason I was so attracted to her," he confessed.

"But then one day she told me she didn't think she liked her job anymore. She said she'd only gotten into it because she thought she could make a difference, but she had the growing feeling that nothing she did had any impact anymore."

Grissom was silent for a moment.

"If this had been someone else, I would have told her to take a hard look at the reasons behind her career choice," he explained, "I would have told her to evaluate her options. But I didn't do any of this. Instead, I chose to believe that her troubles arouse from the fact that her supervisor didn't appreciate her enough. I told to her that a different working environment would probably make a difference -"

"You were right," Greg said, "She just needed a different environment."

Grissom shook his head.

"You don't understand," he said, "She was right, all along; she needed a different job. She was telling me that being a CSI was taking a toll on her, but I didn't listen." He took a deep breath before he could add, "I was afraid that if she looked for a different job, then she would never call me again. I didn't want to lose her, so… Instead of letting her find her own way, I asked her to help me in a case."

"She didn't hesitate to come, and she didn't hesitate when I asked her to stay," Gil said. "Maybe it was easier to come to Vegas than to start over, or maybe she just wanted to be with me… I don't know. I was too happy to start questioning her motives," he said regretfully.

"Now I know better," Gil added, "Starting over would have been difficult but she would have made it. Nine years ago, she could have found something else to do. Who knows, maybe she would have ended up coming to Vegas anyway," he added, "Instead, she spent nine years holding on to a job that was making her emotionally sick."

"You don't know that," Greg said hesitantly. "I mean, she loved her job –you know that. Just because a case got to her, doesn't mean she's gonna throw it all away -" He paused when he saw the look of defeat on Grissom's face. "I mean, you'd give her a job if she came back, right?"

Grissom knew it wasn't possible. Technically, anybody could apply for a job, and if Human Resources gave the go ahead, anybody could be a CSI. But when Sara left, she did in such a way that would make it extremely difficult for the lab to have her back. Her message was clear: She did not want her job anymore.

"Greg, she knows she has friends here," Gil said noncommittally, "No matter what she decides, we've got to be supportive. _You _want her to be happy, don't you?" he added gruffly.

Greg nodded gravely.

They were silent for a moment.

"If you talk to her…" Gil started, then stopped. Asking favors wasn't something he did often.

"You want me to tell her something?" Greg asked.

Gil shook his head.

"No," he said softly. "But if she needs anything…You know, money or connections… Will you let me know?"

Greg hesitated. It looked like he was going to argue, then relented.

"All right," he said.

Greg looked at Grissom.

"This sucks," he whispered.

For a moment, Grissom had the feeling that what Greg really meant to say was, '_You_ suck.'

Grissom simply nodded.

"Yes," he said softly. "It does."

----

Epilogue

A few weeks later, Greg got a call from Sara. She was ok, she said. She was doing volunteer work –she didn't specify where, and Greg didn't ask. It was enough that she'd called him, after all. It seemed like a step in the right direction.

Sara was evasive about her current whereabouts, but not about her experiences on the job. Just like Grissom had predicted, she had lots of advice to give, and Greg was moved by the fact that despite her own problems, she worried about him.

Greg could tell she wasn't happy -she was definitely not the bubbly girl she'd turned into the last couple of years -but at least, she was talking.

And, contrary to what Greg feared, she didn't refuse his offer of help.

Later that day he'd talked to Grissom.

"I'd like to send her some money. I applied for a loan from the Union, but -"

"Those take too long," Grissom interrupted. "I'll get you the money."

Greg sent the money to Sara, and she scrupulously paid it back a few months later. When Grissom got his money back, he didn't dwell on the fact that he'd done something for Sara. He didn't even hold on to the money; he simply put it in an envelope and sent it to an old friend who was trying to rebuild a butterfly reserve in Guatemala.

All he asked in return was that the reserve be named after Sara.

---------

THE END


	7. Sara

December

Grissom has a conversation of sorts with Sara.

Updated on Dec 13, 2007

* * *

I want to give this story a happy ending, but it'll take time…

"_Gil? He-llo?"_

Sara's slight stammering never failed to charm Gil.

"… _God, I'm so nervous,"_ she muttered, almost to herself.

"No need to be," he said kindly. "Just tell me what's in your mind. It's just you and me, here."

It wasn't strictly true; Gil was alone in his cramped office -his home office, not the one at the lab.

He was lying down on a couch, comfortably settled on his back, with a tumbler of Scotch precariously balanced on his belly. The lights were dimmed, and the darkness helped create the illusion that he was holding an actual conversation with Sara, and not merely listening to her voice caught in a recording device.

Sara had been leaving her messages in his answering machine; short messages that he'd ended up saving and splicing together in no particular order, so he could play them in a loop. He couldn't help it; he found her voice comforting, even when her messages were less than optimistic.

Not that she voiced her true feelings often -on the contrary; she did her best to sound cheerful. But he knew her too well; he knew when she was forcing a smile, or when she was hiding something from him.

The fact that she was talking despite her obvious pain made her messages all the more precious to him. He would listen to them, and he often fell asleep listening to her voice.

Lately, however, he'd started to talk back.

He stared at the ceiling while he listened to her messages.

"_I hope you're taking care of yourself; taking some time off -"_

"I am." He replied, "In fact, I called in sick today. Not that I'm sick," he added, as if to reassure her, "But I couldn't face going to work tonight. So, I picked up the phone and asked Catherine to take over."

It was the first time in 10 years he'd called in sick; it was the very first time he'd lied about it.

"I wonder if she really believed me," Gil mused aloud. Ecklie certainly didn't. He'd told Gil not to worry, and to take all the time he needed; _that_ was a giveaway. Ecklie never told you to take all the time you needed; he told you to go to a doctor and get back to work.

It was obvious that he felt sorry for Gil…

"Maybe I _am_ sick," Gil said now. "I'm sick of Christmas, I can tell you that. It's not the decorations –Vegas already looks like a Christmas tree- it's the songs. Early today I heard 'Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas' at a crime scene, and I almost broke down."

His voice was soft as he added, "This was to be our second Christmas together. I was actually planning on getting a tree this year. A live tree," he added quickly, as if anticipating her disapproval, "One we could plant after the holidays."

"…_take the weekend off now and then…"_

He listened to her for a moment, and then added, "I'm glad I called in sick. Maybe this is what I should do till the holidays end; stay here, listening to you. Maybe I should put pictures of you on every corner of the house, so I can talk to you everywhere. I may never get out of the house," he added. "I'm gonna turn into a hermit; the crazy guy next door… Maybe I should start getting some cats?"

"_Are you angry with me?"_ Sara asked at one point, "_For leaving?"_

"Oh, Sara, I could never be angry," he said. It was true; he wasn't angry. He was... bewildered. He knew she had her reasons, but a part of him would never understand why she left.

"I've started to wonder if I was misled by the evidence," he said softly. "I wonder if you really loved me -"

As if on cue, she spoke.

"…_I meant what I said that day," _Sara whispered_, "I wanted to marry you; I wanted to give you babies…"_

Grissom took a deep breath. This part was always painful to hear.

"_But there's a part of me that can't _conceive _that possibility…"_

Gil couldn't help but smile at the word she used.

"…_There's a part of my father and my mother in me, Gil. I see them in me. Sometimes it's a word, sometimes it's a gesture… It's scary. I wouldn't want a child of mine to go through the same things I went through. I don't want to make the same mistakes they made…"_

"You wouldn't have," Grissom said, "You would have made your own mistakes. Me, too," he added. "We make mistakes, Sara. We're human."

"_I know I expect too much from life, sometimes. Life isn't orderly and neat –I know all that; and yet… I want it to be. I always did. When I was a kid, I used to clean up after my pets –after everybody, actually,"_ she added sheepishly. "_My mom didn't care about housekeeping, but I did. Couldn't stand finding something out of place..."_

"You were simply trying to make sense out of chaos, Sara. Your parents neglected you and your brother, and you took over their responsibilities. It was a lot to ask from anyone, let alone a little girl. And you were just a little girl, Sara. God, I wish you realized that -"

"_Maybe that's why I chose a career in law enforcement. Maybe I needed to be in a position of authority; you know, so I could make things right for others -"_

"You were headed for disappointment," Gil sighed.

"…_But instead of making things right, I messed up so badly -"_

"You're being too hard on yourself," Gil countered. "We can't control every situation, Sara. But that's something you learn only after decades on the job."

That message ended abruptly, and then another began.

"_Baby,"_ Sara sighed. "_I miss you so badly…"_

Grissom gulped. God, he missed her, too.

And then her breathy tone changed. She clearly had difficulty saying what she said next.

"_There's something I have to tell you…"_

God, those words never failed to scare him, even though he already knew what she was going to say next.

"_It's something I've never told anyone." _She said, and then she gulped audibly, "_It's about my mother," she added. "The night the cops came home… The night my mom killed my father…"_

Sara had never told him everything about that night or about the events that preceded it, but what she had told him was enough for him to fill-in the gaps. He knew for instance, that Sara had tried to call the cops countless times before, but her mother had prevented her; by now, he could very well imagine what Sara's mother had said; '_daddy's gonna change…'_ or '_If daddy goes to jail, we're never gonna see him again…' _

And Sara had obeyed her, but not for long.

"…_It was me who called the cops,"_ Sara whispered. Even on the phone, it was difficult for her to say it.

"_I still don't know why I called that night, of all nights. Maybe it was the fact that it was my mother doing the screaming_ _this time._ 'How can you do this to me?' _she was saying;_ 'After all I've done…'" Sara took a deep breath. "_So, I opened the window, climbed down and ran to the nearest public phone…"_

Grissom closed his eyes as he pictured a young girl screaming into the phone, begging the cops to come home before her dad hit her mother again.

"_I thought the cops would come in time to stop my dad from hitting my mom… Instead, they found her covered in blood –my father's blood." _

She took a deep breath.

"_Can you imagine, getting caught because your own daughter turned into a snitch?" _

"You weren't a snitch," Gil argued, "You were only trying to get help -"

"_She doesn't know,"_ Sara added, "_She still thinks it was an anonymous tip."_ She took a deep breath, "_And I know I have to tell her. I've got to tell her. I still don't know how, but I will. It's something I've wanted to do all my life. I want to make amends." _

She took a deep breath, "_I've been seeing my mother for the past couple of weeks,"_ she said, and it sounded like a confession. But then, she didn't know that Gil already knew.

"That's good," he said softly, "Just don't expect too much from her... Please."

_"Maybe we can be friends now... Maybe we can talk… and forgive each other...?"_

Gil sighed. This part usually saddened him, but this time it was anger, not sorrow that fueled his response.

"Oh, Sara… You've got to be careful with what you wish for. If you talk, she might end up telling you things you'd be better off not knowing. Those words she said to your dad, for instance; '_After all I've done for you...'_ Don't you realize what happened that night? Your father was leaving her; that's what got her angry enough to kill him. Think about it; she put his needs before your own and your brother's all along; she killed him in a fit of passion but the truth is, he cared more about him than about you. Is that what you want to hear from her?"

He closed his eyes again. He regretted raising her voice, even if she couldn't hear him.

"I'm afraid she will make matters worse..." he said.

"_You know what the worst part is?" _she said, "_None of this would have happened if I'd asked for help before that night. I could have stopped the madness before it got out of hand -"_

"God, Sara, how old were you? Nine? Ten? You were too young. It was out of your hands. They were the adults, not you."

"_I still wonder what she would have done if the cops hadn't come."_

"My guess? She would have killed herself," Gil said callously. "She would have killed her children, too. I've seen cases like this before. God, you don't know how many cases -" He sighed.

"_I'll call soon,"_ she said, and after a moment, her next message began.

_"Hi… Gil." _She always hesitated a little, as if she didn't know what to call him, _"How is everybody? I feel guilty for not asking before. How's Hank?"_

"Hank's better now." Grissom said. "He didn't do too well, the first couple of weeks. Whenever a car stopped in front of the house he would perk up, the way he did whenever you came home. He whimpered when he realized it wasn't you, but he kept waiting -"

Grissom glanced at the door. Hank was there, his ears perked up. Of course; he was listening to her voice…

"He seems to know you're not coming anymore," Gil said, "Now he only follows me with his eyes, as if he expects me to make things right again. Poor guy."

Not that Gil was doing any better. He had his own depression to deal with. "It's been hard, Sara." Grissom said abruptly. He usually kept those thoughts to himself because voicing them made them more real. "I'm learning to live alone again. I'm learning not to hope anymore -"

He took a deep breath. He didn't want to talk about it.

"_I'll call you soon,"_ Sara said. She didn't immediately hang up, and for a few seconds, Gil was able to hear a few noises in the background. Children's screams. Happy sounds. She was probably in a park.

Grissom wished he knew for sure.

A different message began.

_"How's work...?"_ She asked, somewhat reluctantly. _"I miss it, kind of. No,"_ she amended, _"It's not the job I miss, but the people. I even miss Hodges, can you believe that?" _

She was smiling, he could tell, and so he smiled back.

"_I miss the guys," _she said wistfully, "_I hope they're fine -"_

"Actually, they're not doing too well," Gil sighed.

Warrick's recent problems were not over yet; Greg was still angry...

"I don't know," Gil said, "Sometimes it seems that your leaving did something to all of us. We've been taking a hard look at ourselves… and our jobs. I know some of us have started questioning a system that lets the truth take a back seat to politics -"

"_But it's you I miss the most…" _

"I miss you, too," Gil said softly.

"…_You're so good, letting me find my own way…"_

He scoffed.

"I'm not good, Sara. I'm just a coward," he said bitterly, "I didn't go after you because then you would have had no choice but tell me to my face what you couldn't tell me on paper: That I was part of the problem. That every time you looked at me, it was the CSI supervisor you saw, not a boyfriend -"

"…_you knew I needed to face my demons..." _

"I understand all that. You were very brave, Sara. It's just…" He had to stop.

"_It's been hard for me…"_

"It's been hard for me, too. You know what the worst part is?" he asked, "Having to keep a strong front for everybody. Having to lie. I've been lying to everybody, Sara.

"I've been telling them that all I want is for you to be happy. And I do want you to be happy," he added, "But the truth is, I'd rather have you here. Happy or unhappy; angry... I don't care. I need you. Here. With me. On top of me, or underneath... I need to be inside you -" he closed his eyes, because his need was almost unbearable sometimes.

He covered his eyes with his arm until he got himself under control.

"_The temptation to go back is so strong sometimes… But I can't do that; not yet… There's something in me that makes me keep moving… "_

After a moment, Grissom lowered his arm. He picked up the heavy tumbler and looked at it. He'd barely sipped any of the whisky. The temptation to drink enough to dull his pain was strong but he'd resisted it so far.

"_I just didn't want to burden you with all this," _Sara said. "I _want to be well before I go back to you…"_

Tears blurred Gil's eyes, making the tumbler look like a huge diamond; inevitably, it reminded him of a conversation they'd had only a few weeks before she left.

They'd been tentatively discussing wedding rings.

'I'd never wear a diamond,' she'd said. 'The diamond industry exploits people and endangers the eco system -'

And he'd smiled through her tirade because he'd already surmised she wouldn't want a diamond. And she'd smiled back at him because she knew that he knew…

"Sara -" he whispered.

The pain he was feeling was so great that it needed an outlet. Before he knew what he was doing, his arm moved and suddenly, as if on its own volition, threw the tumbler away. With perfect aim, the tumbler crashed on one of the glass-fronted diplomas on the wall.

The crash spooked Hank away.

"Oh, shit," Gil muttered in disbelief. Mechanically, he rose from the couch and went to check on the damage. The tumbler lay on the carpet, seemingly intact, but the glass was shattered. The tears in his eyes didn't let him see the diploma, but he already knew which one it was.

He'd received it not long after he'd started his career as a Criminalist.

_"I've been talking about my troubles… I keep forgetting you have your own problems. You have a job. I don't know how you do it, Gil."_

"It's what I do best," he said simply. He thought of it as a gift, but also as a duty. A hundred years ago, investigators did what they did out of conviction, with almost no rewards. But they had resources, now; they had science on their side.

Not doing the job would be unforgivable. And yet -

_"You deal with tragic situations…"_

"It's not about me, Sara," he said. "No matter what; cases are about somebody else. I don't take them personally -"

_"Don't you ever get tired of it all? Frustrated?"_

He started to shake his head, but stopped. He looked at the diploma under the shattered glass.

"I do," he admitted softly, "Sometimes. Lately -" he paused. "Lately, I've started to lose faith in my job," he said, as if he'd just realized it.

_"I accused you of not feeling anything, once. Remember?"_

Gil sighed.

"Yes, I do."

"_Did I ever apologize for that?"_

"Yes, Sara. You did. Don't think about it anymore," he said gently.

"_You were only being strong for all of us. I see that now. "_

"I'm not strong, Sara. All I ever do is cut my losses and move on... I never stop long enough -"

"_You were my anchor for so long… Without you, I would have crumbled to pieces. Instead, you made me stronger. I can never thank you enough..."_

"You made me stronger too," Gil whispered.

"_You're like a beacon, to me, Gil. I'm not lost as long as you're there. I want to be stronger so I can be by your side and be your support –not a burden."_

"I wouldn't mind that burden, Sara."

"…_I'm so glad the guys have you. You hold their lives in your hands._ _It's a huge responsibility. I'm so glad you're there for them."_

Sara spoke some more, but he wasn't listening. She had just said something he'd almost forgotten in the last couple of weeks: he held his people's lives in his hands.

They needed him.

* * *

TBC


End file.
